


Wolf

by Morgause1



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Cuddling, Fear, Fluff, Love, M/M, Pining, Vala/maia, War of Wrath, angbang, shape shifting, wolf Mairon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 19:03:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14315157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgause1/pseuds/Morgause1
Summary: The armies of the Valar landed on the coasts of Beleriand and Angband is filled with a sense of impending doom. Mairon, officially pardoned for Tol-in-Gaurhoth but still given a cold shoulder, finds a way to sneak back into his Lord's heart (and bed).





	Wolf

The rumors were finally verified beyond all doubt: the armies of the Valar had indeed landed on their shores and were advancing towards them. They were vast, the spies said, comprised of Maiar and the Elves that escaped the Master in the early days of Arda, all clad in shining armor and armed to the teeth. They were gaining allies, too – all the scum that dared not lift their heads until now were rallying to their banners. The very Earth shook beneath so many marching feet. But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part, whispered the spies, was what walked in their midst: fourteen enormous, shining figures, emitting webs of power that held the whole damned crowd in sway, lending it strength and blood-thirsty zeal. Nothing seemed to be able to stop them.

The Master laughed at the words of the messengers, his face distorted in the horrid Light pulsating from his dented crown. Mairon looked up at him anxiously from his place at his desk, half obscured by neat stacks of ledgers and rolls of parchment. Despite his laughter and careless, bragging words, he could see that the Vala was alarmed. Were he at his side, as it was before, were he still standing behind the throne, his master’s right hand, he might have tried to calm him. That was no longer possible: Melkor officially forgave him for Tol-in-Gaurhoth, restoring his status as First Lieutenant. But a gap between them remained, their previous closeness all gone.

It was this distance from his Lord that made him so stressed, Mairon thought as he walked through the labyrinthine corridors of Angband. Without its thin, omnipresent weight on his soul he might have been better able to disregard the whispers and shadows of doubt that filled the fortress, always vanishing just as he turned his full attention to them. The halls and tunnels were permeated by an over-powering sense of impending doom. He battled it during council meetings, inventing ever cleverer ways of thwarting the enemy. He adjusted the army’s training programs, making them work twice as hard and twice as long as before. He stacked the fortress with decades-worth of food and his forges blazed night and day to fill the armories. He was as prepared as could be. But the foreshadowing was still there, blowing off the walls, as it were. Where was it coming from?

It was Melkor that wasn’t doing well, Mairon suddenly realized, and that realization hit him much deeper than he expected. After all, the Vala was perfect: the strongest, the wisest, the best in every possible way of all Eru’s creatures. Mairon always thought so and this was not going to change, _ever_. But… he was acting strange lately. He wasn’t the steadfast rock he used to be. He was fragile, consumed by the madness of the Silmarils and by the pain those foul Incarnates dared inflict upon him. There was a new kind of emptiness inside him, and it showed. If it were anyone else, Mairon might have said that he looked scared. But no, _no_ –

This thought terrified Mairon to the very Core.

After one bleak, desperate council meeting, the Vala decided to retire to his bed. Mairon’s heart was heavy with the bad news they received and he continued to sit at the table, long after everyone else cleared the room, peering at his maps and charts. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to get his mind to work, to somehow find a way out of their predicament. Nothing came up. Nothing but a feeling of loneliness  

(for when was the last time another’s fingers touched his hair like that, when – )

which he should have disregarded as irrelevant. He let out his breath, appalled by how badly it shook. He could not fight all of the Valar by himself. He was not meant for it – he was a servant by nature. A good, very powerful one, but a servant nonetheless. He needed his master. But his master had retired.

Before his spectacular failure and the years of torment that followed it, Mairon was generally welcome in his master’s bed. Now that he had been pardoned… he was sometimes summoned there, used briefly and then dismissed back to his own haunts, the bedchamber doors closed in his face. That was better than nothing, of course, but it still hurt. And oh, how he craved Melkor, every passing moment making it worse: the touch of his skin, his smell, his eyes on him and that strange softness which occasionally filled them when he looked at him. But most of all, Mairon craved the special reassurance that could only be passed through contact of body and soul: the feeling that all was well, that he could do it, that the world made sense and was full of Purpose. Mairon wrapped his arms around himself, rubbing them nervously, and felt something break inside him. He would be punished if caught, but he couldn’t help but try.

 

The carved doors of the Vala’s chambers opened and a great black wolf slinked inside, padded feet making no sound on the carpeted floors. It stood at the entrance for a while, sniffing the cold air. Golden eyes blazed, darting here and there. The coast was clear – the Vala was fast asleep. The Silmaril crown was nowhere to be seen, probably locked off in the vault underneath the bed. Good. There was nothing the wolf hated more than the sight of that disgusting thing.

The wolf’s shadow – a strange amalgam of lines and straight angles that had nothing to do with a wolf’s organic shape – passed briefly on walls and furniture as it made its way toward the great bed. One light jump and it was up, curling silently at the foot of the bed, careful not to be noticed. It sniffed again and what it smelled seemed to comfort it, for its eyes drifted shut.

“What are you doing here?”

The eyes snapped open again to see Melkor sitting up, an annoyed look on his stern face. The wolf whined softly, lowering its head and flattening its ears submissively.

“So what?”

The wolf whined again, pleading. One paw crept forward, almost touching the Vala’s foot. Fiery eyes were captured and held by pale, icy ones and the wolf panted with fear, but then Melkor’s expression softened.

“Alright, alright, come here.”

The wolf crawled on its belly to the Vala, mewling with delight when his arms wrapped snugly around it. It rested its long snout on his bare chest and immediately commenced licking it.

“Don’t be a pest, Mairon, or I _will_ kick you out. I want to sleep.” But he did scratch it behind the ears, passing his fingers through the thick, soft fur. The wolf shuddered once and then relaxed, slumping heavily in Melkor’s arms. It was warm, good, and its soul sang of love. Melkor closed his eyes again and drifted back to sleep.

That night, both Vala and Maia slept, and all coldness was wiped clean from their hearts. The future still loomed around the corner, of course, but for now it didn’t bother them. Right now all was well.  


End file.
